Antipathy
by sulphurage
Summary: the lovely boys of Weiss + Schwarz. what else? ^_~


But most people are rather stupid and waste their lives

Antipathy

Weiss Kreuz does not belong to me. This is all for fun and to kill boredom, thank you for not suing me. 

__

But most people are rather stupid and waste their lives. Have you not seen that? Have you not looked down from the horse at a city and thought how much it resembled an ant heap, full of blind creatures who think their mundane little world is real? You see the lighted windows, and what you want to think is that there may be many interesting stories behind them, but what you know is that really there are just dull, dull souls, mere consumers of food, who think their instincts are emotions and their tiny lives of more account than a whisper of wind.

"This place is sure some club," Ken commented, pushing his goggles off his head so that he could see the surroundings clearly. Yoji laughed brashly at the greenhorn's awestruck, dazed expression, striding straight towards the bar without even taking a second glance at his comrades. If one imagined the entire place to be a wallpaper, then Omi guessed that Yoji would literally 'fade into the background'. But then again, one couldn't put it that way. This club was obviously an intensely popular one, and it seemed as though it pulsed with the techno-alternative music that was blasting over the surround speakers, practically oozing the cool factor. Neon spotlights were dappled onto the moving dancefloor, where hip teens and chic twenty-something year olds were gyrating, performing some really fluid, fancy footwork and movements. The girls here were interesting too—practically every one was gorgeous. _Everyone _was gorgeous. 

It surprised him that Omi had managed to sneak in, especially when his height, size and looks were taken into consideration. The bouncer outside was obviously the one who decided on who was beautiful or attractive enough to step in. It was quite obvious Yoji and Aya would have _no problems _getting in—the former was in a short, figure hugging tank top that showed off his lean frame, and a tight pair of leather pants that served the same purpose. The latter was a wearing low-cut top made of fairly thin felt, with a sophisticated silver choker around his neck. Come to think of it, Aya's pants resembled Yoji's… Ken realised, frowning as he caught sight of pants under the rhythmic flashes of the spotlights above. Except that Aya's was jet black, and Yoji's were a dark purple. 

Perhaps Omi managed to get in because of the rest of them—sort of like a 'one for all, all for one' thing. _Hmmm…_Ken jerked out of his reverie when Aya stepped past him, his glacial features set in ease, instead of the usual hard lines. The top really allowed him to display his sleek, lean arm muscles, which were solid as steel, and only a little bigger in size than a girl's. Quite an impressive sight, for Ken was used to seeing bulky muscles, wrongly proportionate to the rest of the body. But he was assured that playing soccer would give lean build, unlike rugby, which was a good sign. 

Watching Aya's slim back recede into the gyrating crowd, Ken couldn't help noticing that when Weiss' leader wasn't on a mission, or when he wasn't running, his gait resembled one of a model's. The narrow hips swayed seductively, and he seemed to unconsciously exude a perfect coolness, long fingers lodged in a front pocket of his pants.

"Oh great, now our guardians are both gone," Omi grumbled sarcastically, bouncing up to Ken like a little kid. Glancing down, Ken sighed, looking around the alien, impossibly crowded, tobacco smelling club. "Great way to spend a weekend without an assignment."

"Guardians? Hey, look, I'm not that keen on this place either. I saw this arcade just now a few streets down. We might as well get out…" Then he froze. It was quite obvious that they couldn't get out from the entrance, which meant the ought to be a back door…

Exhaling, Omi leaned against the wall, feeling his head spin after inhaling so much weird-smelling smoke, reminding him of joss sticks. Not to mention the lights weren't making anything better. "Let's just get out from the back door, Ken. We don't have to be afraid of any punks taking drugs or doing whatnot there anyway…." 

"I'd like to remind you, Omi-kun, that you're underage. _Sex_ _or drugs._"

"Whatever. I got in; I'm getting out. Unscathed in both cases."

"Fine, then get out!" Ken shouted over the pulsating beats. It wasn't even considered music any more. Usually he would love to be in clubs, but the thing was, he obviously wasn't in sync with these people. They looked like anaemic zombies, now that he looked carefully. 

He caught Omi's dazed look. "How?" the youngest member mouthed helplessly. 

Ken took his wrist and began elbowing his way through the seemingly endless flood of people.

His eyes were unfocused, and basically he was just floating forward, unclear of what was happening around him. Swirls of intoxicating smoke surrounded him like foggy curtains, people bustling around with drinks and fake expressions on their blurred faces. He wondered if the entire place, everything, was just a façade. Or were these people as hip and as unbelievably unruffled and carefree as they made themselves out to be?

What liars. 

Every single one, he thought, shaking his head ever so slightly as he continued to saunter forward, unaware yet noticing everything around him. The smoke had affected his perfect vision, but that didn't matter. He could see by other senses. One of them, a powerful one, was listening. All these people were just here, either wearing masks and acting specific roles, taking on a second skin to what they really were. _Pretending _like they belonged here, as though smoking, dancing and drinking were life's raw, fresh pleasures. Oh yeah, he thought, blinking. How could he forget? Making love. _That was another. _

These places were made for people who wanted another life to live. To find something exciting, out of the ordinary. They wanted what he hated in his life. He despised such juvenile thinking. If you were smart you'd choose peace over damnation. 

Places like these had standards which you had to meet in order to be part of the crowd, in order to fit in with the cool babes. The bouncers had let him in with a glance, at his long scarlet locks, no doubt. He hardly flinched as a waitress brushed exceedingly close, tanned cleavage against his upper arm, and he could feel her through the skin-tight, black material of her slip dress. 

_Brazen s**t. _

Abyssinian froze. 

Instincts flinging up instantaneously, his violet eyes immediately narrowed as he scanned the gyrating crowd, trying to pick up that foreign voice. A cold chill was creeping up his back as he continued walking, this time keeping out of the dance floor's centre, where the spotlights were focussed on, instead skimming the darkened corners. Otherwise he would be open, obvious. Vulnerable.

__

The man should be concentrating on something else besides this place, music and people. 

Easy—it didn't take long. _You. _Those sharp violets halted on a fairly tall, slim figure near the staircase across the dance floor. Reclining comfortably against a crimson, cylindrical pillar, the male's face was hidden beneath shaggy chest-length locks of a certain light brown shade—amidst the erratic, alternating spotlights and rapid kaleidoscopic shuffling of colours Aya couldn't make out specific colours. 

Then the man turned his perspicacious gaze upon him as he stopped chewing on the cigarette. Arrogance, contempt and vindictiveness hit him, with the force of a sledgehammer. A downward, disdainful gaze and a sadistic smirk stained those flawlessly sharp features, evident even from the distance between them. 

Personal dislike. Fine with him. Aya knew the feeling—instant irritation and disinclination to someone's looks or manners, so much so you wouldn't hesitate to express your repugnance. He'd harboured such feelings from first impressions of so many people. _Like Youji, Ken and Omi. Or maybe…the rest of the world. _That was about the most apt statement he'd made about himself in a long time. 

__

Suddenly, in a way so subtle it almost disguised itself as a figment of imagination the spotlights swung with a sudden violence. Aya saw the long-haired man drenched in a flood of crimson. Relishing being in a pool of blood. 

He saw the flicker of excitement gleam in those reptile-like eyes.

He saw the lady with a bob pluck the cigarette from his lips as she sauntered past.

He saw the man watching him, returning a speculative, appraising look.

He saw the woman sashay up the stairs to the second storey, her long, shapely legs stopping when she reached the ledge. 

He could feel something within him wrench, in a disgustingly cruel, lucid manner. Slamming against the sea of sweating bodies, Aya tried his best to meander through them, the only way to the staircase. Progress was painfully insignificant. _I'm not going to reach her. _Hateful gaze switching between the hypnotised girl and the laughing man, Aya cursed, first mentally, then aloud. _"Get off me!!" _he hollered furiously over the pulsing house bass, which drowned him anyway, so he ended up crushing his knuckles into the drunk bisexual's face. 

__

Damn it. 

He was practically stuck now, and even with the random punches and elbowing he wasn't going to reach anywhere. Especially the second storey. Turning to look up, Aya realised she was leaning precariously over the low ledge. _What the—_

And he watched with a semi-horrified frown as she stood on top there, and inserted the burning butt of the stick into her right eye. 

Then she started to scream. But she didn't drop the cigarette. 

The entire club stopped to look up at the bizarre spectacle, murmurs washing through the crowd as they watched the insane girl burn her eyeball. 

Not a single soul near her dared to intervene, or pull her away from the edge. 

_Shit._

She fell over and crashed like a porcelain doll on the now vacant metal flooring. Scattered gasps, random screams and a blind scuffling arose amongst the clubbers. 

Fists unclenching, Aya swivelled his gaze almost insouciantly back to the base of the staircase. Of course. Gone. He inhaled a whiff of cigarette smoke in a sharp breath, before realising he was soaked in sweat. 

_I know you, _he thought when he finally got out of the claustrophobic mass. _And you bloody bastard know me inside out. _Heading towards a grim Youji, Aya raked his fingers though the entangled threads of red hair. 

"A failed mission," Youji commented, pushing the dark shades farther up his perfect nose. "Birman's gonna flip." 

"She wasn't our job," Aya brusquely reminded everyone to whom it concerned. "Get that straight." 

_I don't intend to save the world. _

~ end of ch 1


End file.
